A Lesson In Charades
by summerkindofwonderful
Summary: Edward Cullen and Anna Rutherford shared a past. After two years, they meet again, only under different circumstances. Will love be enough?


_Can this be a sequel of my dying hope?_

_Chasing down a never ending make-believe_

_But you're a perfect match of consistency_

_Will you come back in a heartbeat?_

_-Typecast, The Boston Drama_

If everything and everyone you've lived for was gone, what then, is left for you to do?

My father, my mother- dead in a tragic plane crash in the Atlantic Ocean barely a year ago. Myself- pregnant and married at eighteen, with what was intended to be a blissful life. Instead, it was the exact opposite. I was miserably failing my Photography degree; my frequently battered body just couldn't keep up with the demands.

Mirrors were my worst enemy, for showing me my deeply flawed and ugly self. I couldn't bear to look at the five-foot-eight frame I once so proudly possessed, now supporting only a mere 100 pounds. My black hair was unkempt and dry. There were dark circles around my sunken ash-colored eyes, and patches of yellow and purple scattered along my arms and legs. I didn't even dare survey what was underneath my shirt.

What did I ever do to deserve this? I was average- good for the most part. I was a straight-A student, and I skipped two grades. Sure, I had my share of mischief every now and then; but nothing absolutely horrendous. Nothing that required this kind of bad karma towards me.

I guess this was mostly my fault, more than anyone else's.

Even as I walked down the aisle on my wedding day, there wasn't a single ounce of doubt. He was waiting at the altar, with his patented 'I'm-bored-look'. I could never walk fast enough, in fear that he might walk away. I had been too needy; too impulsive. My immature, hormone-riddled body made the decision before my above-average rational brain did.

"What are you staring at, bitch? You know you need not do that, you're ugly anyway." Will menacingly cooed close to my ear.

I squeezed my eyelids shut, preparing for the horror that was to follow. He dragged me down the winding spiral staircase by the hair, pulling out several strands in the process. His strong knees hit me in the abdomen, causing me to curl up on the granite floor with agony. Still, he wasn't contented; his fists landed on different places in my body, each delivering a damaging blow.

When he was satisfied with the pain he had inflicted, he stood up unabashedly, as if nothing wrong ever happened. "I'm going out tonight- don't wait up for me." he said; and with heavy strides, he walked out of the door.

The house we shared in downtown Boston was architecturally beautiful- Victorian-era inspired, with white wood, marble and granite floors. But it was not a home, it was just a structure whose most recent history included suffering, torture, and misery.

Once I regained an ounce of composure, I went upstairs to check on the baby- I was still struggling with the reality that he was mine, that I was now a mother. His fragile, little body lay asleep on the crib; peaceful, unaware of the harsh complexities of life.

It was one of the several times I felt entirely torn- between wanting to leave this life behind and wanting to stay because of Aiden, the child. He was everything to me, the last strand of hope I could hold on to. And that's why I stayed.

Even so, I resented myself; the hasty and wrong decisions that led to this wretched existence. It was one big mistake, so to speak, which he and I would pay for. If only I hadn't been so young and stupid.

Resisting the urge to break down into a million pieces, I simply let the tears fall, silently. The deafening quietness that surrounded me served as a lullaby, singing me to sleep. But even in the sub-conscious state of slumber, I wasn't spared, for nightmares frequently haunted me.

Usually it would be Sebastian, inflicting some sort of domestic battery towards me. It would be a bloody mess of carnage coupled with the stalker-victim suspense. But it was the occasional non-violent ones that hurt the most. The main character: Edward Cullen. It brought back the pain of losing the only love I've ever known.

I was young, then; sixteen. Yet age never quantified anything, especially not where love is involved.

Welcome, to the crumbling, desolate world of Anna Louise Rutherford-Hamilton.


End file.
